I’m in the last few weeks of this pregnancy, and I’m sort of stupidly realizing that I’m in the last few weeks of this pregnancy. As in soon, this phase of my life will be over forever. There’s a part of my brain that’s telling me I need to enjoy this remaining bit of time, relish feeling a baby moving inside me and strangers being nice when I venture into public places. But I feel like I’m just going through the motions.

I’m trying to make sure I do all the things for The Acrobat that I did for Annabel…like this:

Still as impressively, terrifyingly painful as it was with Annabel.

I have a lot of guilt because I am not feeling joyful.  I worked hard over the last thirty-five-plus weeks to not get stressed out, and it had the unfortunate side effect of leaving me feeling…detached. A year ago today I found out I’d miscarried, leaving my pregnancy track record less-than impressive. I’ve kept my heart guarded since then, but now that I’m so close to the end I wish I could open it up. Instead, a pregnancy’s worth of stress is slamming me and I’m just hoping that the moment I see him all of this will melt away.

I tell myself that I don’t have to enjoy this time to be grateful. I am allowed to hate every remaining moment of the pregnancy if I need to, and then be happy when he’s born. (I do need to come to grips with the fact that this is happening and pack a frigging hospital bag already!) But I don’t need to enjoy pregnancy to love my baby. I really wish pregnancy agreed with me, but it doesn’t and I can’t have guilt about it anymore.

So while I really do like feeling The Acrobat wiggle inside me (or, more accurately, tenderize my innards), I’m not going to be sad when this is over. I want to see this baby and get my heart and mind back.

Peace out, pregnancy. I will not miss you.